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GIFT  OF 
Irene   H-udson 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007iA/ith  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/desertedvillageOOgoldrich 


THE 


DESERTED  VILLAGE, 


BY 


OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 
U 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY    HAMMATT   BILLINGS. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PORTER    AND    COATEa 


••     •    •••  •      •     * 

•  •  •••    •  •••*•*• 


^  o~^ 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Frontispiece.  page 

Headpiece, 7 

"The  hawthorn  bush,  with  seats  beneath  the  shade. 
For  talking  age  and  wliispering  lovers  made," 8 

**The  dancing  pair  that  simply  sought  renown. 
By  holding  out,  to  tire  each  other  down," ,        .       .       9 

"The  bashful  virgin's  sidelong  looks  of  love. 
The  matron's  glance  that  would  those  looks  reprove," 10 

"Amidst  thy  bowers  the  tyrant's  hand  is  seen, 
And  desolation  saddens  a?'  my  green," ,        .      11 

"Along  thy  glades,  a  solitary  guest. 
The  hollow-sounding  bittern  guaras  its  nest,"         - 12 

"Here,  as  I  take  my  solitary  rounds, 
Amidst  thy  tangling  walks  and  ruined  grounds," 14 

"Around  my  fire  an  evening  group  to  draw, 
And  tell  of  all  I  felt,  and  all  I  saw," 16 

"Nor  surly  porter  stands  in  guilty  state. 
To  spurn  imploring  famine  from  the  gate," 17 

"The  swain  responsive  as  the  milkmaid  sung," 18 

"The  playful  children  just  let  loose  from  school," 19 

"To  pick  her  wintry  fagot  from  the  thorn," 20 

"There,  where  a  few  torn  shrubs  the  place  disclose, 
The  village  preacher's  modest  mansion  rose," 21 

"Shouldered  his  crutch,  and  showed  how  fields  were  won," 23 

"Beside  the  bed  where  parting  life  was  laid," 24 

"Even  children  followed,  with  endearing  wile, 
And  plucked  his  gown,  to  share  the  good  man's  smile,"  .        .  25 


998871 


vi  List  of   Illustrations. 

PAGE 

"The  village  master  taught  his  little  school," 26 

"Well  had  the  boding  tremblers  learned  to  trace 
The  day's  disasters  in  his  morning  face,"  ........      27 

"While  words  of  learned  length  and  thundering  sound 
Amazed  the  gazing  rustics  ranged  around," 28 

"Where  village  statesmen  talked  with  looks  profound," 29 

"Nor  the  coy  maid,  half  willing  to  bo  pressed. 
Shall  kiss  the  cup  to  pass  it  to  the  rest," 31 

"But  the  long  pomp,  the  midnight  masquerade, 
With  all  the  freaks  of  wanton  wealth  arrayed," 32 

"She  then  shines  forth,  solicitous  to  bless, 
In  all  the  glaring  impotence  of  dress," 34 

"While,  scourged  by  famine  from  the  smiling  land, 
The  mournful  peasant  leads  his  humble  band," 35 

"  Ah  !  turn  thine  eyes 
Where  the  poor  houseless  shivering  female  lies," 37 

"When  idly  first,  ambitious  of  the  town. 
She  left  her  wheel,  and  robes  of  country  brown," 38 

"Where  crouching  tigers  wait  their  hapless  prey. 
And  savage  men,  more  murderous  still  than  they," 39 

"The  good  old  sire  the  first  prepared  to  go 
To  new-found  worlds,  and  wept  for  others'  woe," .41 

"And  kissed  her  thoughtless  babes  with  many  a  tear. 
And  clasped  them  close,  in  sorrow  doubly  dear," 42 

"Downward  they  move,  a  melancholy  band. 
Pass  from  the  shore,  and  darken  all  the  strand," 44 

"Where  equinoctial  fervors  glow," 45 

"As  rocks  resist  the  billows  and  the  sky," 46 


THE  DESERTED  VILLAGE. 


J 


QWEET  Auburn!  loveliest  village  of  the  plain, 
,  J  kJ     Where  health  and  plenty  cheered  the  laboring  swain, 

Where  smiling  spring  its  earliest  visit  paid, 
And  parting  summer's  lingering  blooms  delayed : 
Dear  lovely  bowers  of  innocence  and  ease, 
Seats  of  my  youth,  when  every  sport  could  please! 
How  often  have  I  loitered  o'er  thy  green. 
Where  humble  happiness  endeared  each  scene! 
How  often  have  I  paused  on  every  charm, 
The  sheltered  cot,  the  cultivated  farm. 
The  never-failing  brook,  the  busy  mill, 
The  decent  church  that  topped  the  neighboring  hill, 


The   Deserted  Village. 

The  hawthorn  bush,  with  seats  beneath  the  shade, 
For  talking  age  and  whispering  lovers  made! 


•  .*  »•*  ." 


•  ;  «-» 


How  often  have  I  blest  the  coming  day, 
When  toil  remitting  lent  its  turn  to  play. 


The   Deserted  Village. 


And  all  the  village  train,  from  labor  free, 
Led  up  their  sports  beneath  the  spreading  tree; 
While  many  a  pastime  circled  in  the  shade, 
The  young  contending  as  the  old  surveyed; 


And  many  a  gambol  frolicked  o'er  the  ground. 
And  sleights  of  art  and  feats  of  strength  went  round , 
And  still,  as  each  repeated  pleasure  tired. 
Succeeding  sports  the  mirthful  band  inspired ; 
The  dancing  pair  that  simply  sought  renown, 
By  holding  out,  to  tire  each  other  down; 
2 


10 


The   Deserted  Village. 


The  swain  mistrustless  of  his  smutted  face, 
While  secret  laughter  tittered  round  the  place; 


The  bashful  virgin's  sidelong  looks  of  love, 

The  matron's  glance  that  would  those  looks  reprove 


The  Deserted  Village. 


11 


These  were  thy  cliarms,  sweet  village !  sports  like  these, 
With  sweet  succession,  taught  e'en  toil  to  please; 
These  round  thy  bowers  their  cheerful  influence  shed, 
These  were  thy  charms, — but  all  these  charms  are  fled. 


3^ 


Sweet  smiling  village,  loveliest  of  the  lawn ! 
Thy  sports  are  fled,  and  all  thy  charms  withdrawn ;     j  'j, 


sy^ '^ 


.^> 


M. 


Amidst  thy  bowers  the  tyrant's  hand  is  seen, 
And  desolation  saddens  all  thy  green : 
One  only  master  grasps  the  whole  domain, 
And  half  a  tillage  stints  thy  smiling  plain;  ^' 
No  more  thy  grassy  brook  reflects  the  day, 


•  u 


12 


The   Deserted  Village. 


But,  choked  with  sedges,  works  its  weedy  way; 

Along  thy  glades,  a  solitary  guest, 

The  hollow-sounding  bittern  guards  its  nest; 


Amidst  thy  desert  walks  the  lapwing  flies, 

And  tires  their  echoes  with  unvaried  cries. 

Sunk  are  thy  bowers  in  shapeless  ruin  all. 

And  the  long  grass  o'ertops  the  mouldering  wall; 

And,  trembling,  shrinking  from  the  spoiler's  hand, 

Far,  far  away  thy  children  leave  the  land.  K^ 


111  fares  the  land,  to  hastening  ills  a  prey, 
Where  wealth  accumulates^  and  men  decay : 


The  Deserted  Tillage.       13 

Princes  and  lords  may  flourish,  or  may  fade; 

A.  breath  can  make  them,  as  a  breath  has  made: 

But  a  bold  peasantry,  their  country's  pride,  yj- 

When  once  destroyed,  can  never  be  supplied. 

A  time  there  was,  ere  England's  griefs  began, 
When  every  rood  of  ground  maintained  its  man; 
For  him  light  Labor  spread  her  wholesome  store, 
Just  gave  what  life  required,  but  gave  no  more : 
His  best  companions,  innocence  and  health; 
And  his  best  riches,  ignorance  of  wealth.  6>   '^ 

But  times  are  altered  :   trade's  unfeeling  train 
Usurp  the  land,  and  dispossess  the  swain ; 
Along  the  lawn,  where  scattered  hamlets  rose. 
Unwieldy  wealth  and  cumbrous  pomp  repose, 
And  every  want  to  opulence  allied. 
And  every  pang  that  folly  pays  to  pride. 
Those  gentle  hours'  that  plenty  bade  to  bloom, 
Those  calm  desires  that  asked  but  little  room. 
Those  healthful  sports  that  graced  the  peaceful  scene, 
Lived  in  each  look,  and  brightened  all  the  green, — 
These,  far  departing,  seek  a  kinder  shore. 
And  rural  mirth  and  manners  are  no  more. 


-^i 


14 


The  Des'Erted  Village. 


Sweet  Auburn  !   parent  of  the  blissful  hour, 
Thy  glades  forlorn  confess  the  tyrant's  power. 


Here,  as  I  take  my  solitary  rounds, 

Amidst  thy  tangling  walks  and  ruined  grounds, 

And,  many  a  year  elapsed,  return  to  view 


The   Deserted* Village.  15 

Wliere  once  the  cottage  stood,  the  hawthorn  grew, 

Remembrance  wakes,  with  all  her  busy  train. 

Swells  at  my  breast,  and  turns  the  past  to  jmin.    ^   '^ 

In  all  my  wanderings  round  this  world  of  care, 
In  all  my  griefs — and  God  has  given  my  share — 
I  still  had  hopes  my  latest  hours  to  crown, 
Amidst  these  humble  bowers  to  lay  me  down; 
To  husband  out  life\s  taper  at  the  close. 
And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting  by  repose ; 
I  still  had  hopes — for  pride  attends  us  still — 
Amidst  the  swains  to  show  my  book-learned  skill. 
Around  my  fire  an  evening  group  to  draw. 
And  tell  of  all  I  felt,  and  all  I  saw ; 
And,  as  a  hare,  whom  hounds  and  horns  pursue. 
Pants  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  he  flew, 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  long  vexations  past. 
Here  to  return, — and  die  at  home  at  last.        '  ^ 

O  blest  retirement!   friend  to  life's  decline,  f    a 

Retreats  from  care,  that  never  must  be  mine, 
How  happy  he  who  crowns  in  shades  like  these 
A  youth  of  labor  with  an  age  of  ease; 
Who  quits  a  world  where  strong  temptations  try, 
And,  since  'tis  hard  to  combat,  learns  to  fly !      .  ^  t-  r <-     ^M 


16 


The  Deserted  Village. 


"Around  my  fire  an  evening  group  to  draw, 
And  tell  of  all  I  felt,  and  all  I  saw."— p.  15. 


The   Deserted  Village. 


17 


For  him  no  wretches,  born  to  work  and  weep, 
Explore  the  mine,  or  tempt  the  dangerous  deep; 


Nor  surly  porter  stands  in  guilty  state, 
To  spurn  imploring  famine  from  the  gate : 
3  d 


18 


The   Deserted  Village. 


But  on  he  moves  to  meet  his  latter  end, 
Angels  around  befriending  Virtue's  friend ; 
Bends  to  the  grave  with  unperceived  decay, 
While  Resignation  gently  slopes  the  way ; 
And,  all  his  prospects  brightening  to  the  last, 
His  heaven  commences  ere  the  world  be  ])ast. 


Sweet  was  the  sound,  when  oft  at  evening's  close 
Up  yonder  hill  the  village  murmur  rose; 
There,  as  I  passed  with  careless  steps  and  slow. 
The  mingling  notes  came  softened  from  below; 
The  swain  responsive  as  the  milkmaid  sung, 


,/ 


The   Deserted  Village. 


19 


The  sober  herd  that  lowed  to  meet  their  young; 
The  noisy  geese  that  gabbled  o'er  the  pool, 
The  playful  children  just  let  loose  from  school ; 


The  watch-dog's  voice  that  bayed  the  whispering  wind. 

And  the  loud  laugh  that  spoke  the  vacant  mind : 

These  all  in  sweet  confusion  sought  the  shade, 

And  filled  each  pause  the  nightingale  had  mad^. 

But  now  the  sounds  of  population  fail, 

No  cheerful  murmurs  fluctuate  in  the  gale, 

No  busy  steps  the  grass-grown  footway  tread. 

For  all  the  bloomy  flush  of  life  is  fled : 

All  but  yon  widowed,  solitary  thing, 

That  feebly  bends  beside  the  plashy  spring; 


20  The  Deseiited  Village. 

She,  wretched  matron,  forced  in  age,  for  bread. 
To  strip  the  brook  with  mantling  cresses  spread, 


To  pick  her  wintry  fagot  from  the  thorn, 

To  seek  lier  nightly  shed,  and  weep  till  morn; 


The  Deserted  Village. 


21 


She  only  left  of  all  the  harmless  train, 

The  sad  historian  of  the  pensive  plain.   /  ^^ 

Near  yonder  copse,  where  once  the  garden  smiled,   -^- 
And  still  where  many  a  garden  flower  grows  wild, 
There,  where  a  few  torn  shrubs  the  place  disclose, 


The  village  preacher's  modest  mansion  rose.  j 

A  man  he  was  to  all  the  country  dear. 

And  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year: 

Kemote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race 

Nor  e'er  had  changed,  nor  wished  to  change,  his  place ; 


,^  / 


22  The   Deserted  Village. 

Unpracticed  he  to  fawn,  or  seek  for  power, 

By  doctrines  fashioned  to  the  varying  hour; 

Far  other  aims  his  heart  had  learned  to  prize, 

More  skilled  to  raise  the  wretched  than  to  rise. 

His  house  was  known  to  all  the  vagrant  train ; 

He  chid  their  wanderings,  but  relieved  their  pain; 

The  long-remembered  beggar  was  his  guest. 

Whose  beard  descending  swept  his  aged  breast; 

The  ruined  spendthrift,  now  no  longer  proud. 

Claimed  kindred  there,  and  had  his  claims  allowed ; 

The  broken  soldier,  kindly  bade  to  stay, 

Sat  by  his  fire,  and  talked  the  night  away; 

Wept  o'er  his  wounds,  or,  tales  of  sorrow  done, 

Shouldered  his  crutch,  and  showed  how  fields  were  won. 

Pleased  with  his  guests,  the  good  man  learned  to  glow, 

And  quite  forgot  their  vices  in  their  woe : 

Careless  their  merits  or  their  faults  to  scan, 

His  pity  gave  ere  charity  began.         /  ^ 

Thus  to  relieve  the  wretched  was  his  pride,  / 
And  even  his  failings  leaned  to  virtue's  side;     j 
But  in  his  duty  prompt  at  every  call. 
He  watched  and  wept,  he  prayed  and  felt  for  all; 
And,  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 
To  tempt  its  new-fledged  offspring  to  the  skies. 


The  Deserted  Vii^lag 


23 


'Shouldered  his  crutch,  and  showed  how  fields  were  won."— p.  22. 


24  Thp:  Deserted  Village. 

He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull  delay, 
Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way.     \  ' 


O 


Beside  the  bed  where  parting  life  was  laid, 
And  sorrow,  guilt,  and  pain,  by  turns  dismayed, 
The  reverend  champion  stood.     At  his  control, 
Despair  and  anguish  fled  the  struggling  soul ; 
Comfort  came  down  the  trembling  wretch  to  raise^ 
And  his  last  faltering  accents  whispered  praise.       x 

At  church,  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace. 
His  looks  adorned  the  venerable  place; 


-A^^ 


The  Deserted  Village. 


25 


Truth  from  his  lips  prevailed  with  double  sway, 
And  fools,  who  came  to  scoif,  remained  to  pray. 
The  service  past,  around  the  pious  man. 


With  steady  zeal,  each  honest  rustic  ran ; 
Even  children  followed,  with  endearing  wile, 
4 


26 


The  Deserted  Village. 


\^ 


/ 


And  plucked  his  gown,  to  share  the  good  man's  smile. 
His  ready  smile  a  parent's  warmth  expressed, 
Their  welfare  pleased  him,  and  their  cares  distressed; 
To  them  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs,  were  given, 
But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  heaven. 
As  some  tall  cliff  that  lifts  its  awful  form, 
Swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  leaves  the  storm, 
Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are  spread, 


Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head 


Beside  yon  straggling  fence  that  skirts  the  way, 
With  blossomed  furze  unprofitably  gay. 
There,  in  his  noisy  mansion,  skilled  to  rule. 
The  village  master  taught  his  little  school. 
A  man  severe  he  was,  and  stern  to  view; 
I  knew  him  well,  and  every  truant  knew: 


i^^'^'^t^'' 


The   Deserted  Village. 


27 


Well  had  the  boding  tremblers  learned  to  trace 
The  day's  disasters  in  his  morning  face; 
Full  well  they  laughed,  with  counterfeited  glee, 
At  all  his  jokes,  for  many  a  joke  had  he ; 
Full  well  the  busy  whisper,  circling  round. 


^^c:> 


28 


The   Deserted  Village. 


Conveyed  the  dismal  tidings  when  he  frowned^ 
Yet  he  was  kind,  or,  if  severe  in  aught, 
The  love  he  bore  to  learning  was  in  fault. 
The  village  all  declared  how  much  he  knew  : 
'Twas  certain  he  could  write,  and  cipher  too; 
Lands  he  could  measure,  terms  and  tides  presage^ 
And  even  the  story  ran  that  he  could  gauge; 


In  arguing,  too,  the  parson  owned  his  skill. 
For  even  though  vanquished  he  could  argue  still; 
While  words  of  learned  length  and  thundering  sound 
Amazed  the  gazing  rustics  ranged  around; 


The   Deserted  Village.  29 

And  still  they  gazed,  and  still  the  wonder  grew, 
That  one  small  head  could  e^rry  all  he  knew.     > 


^ 


But  past  is  all  his  fame.     The  very  spot 
Where  many  a  time-  he  triumphed,  is  forgot. 


30  The   Deserted  Village. 

Near  yonder  thorn,  that  lifts  its  head  on  high, 

Where  once  the  sign-post  caught  the  passing  eye, 

Low  lies  that  house  where  nut-brown  draughts  inspired, 

Where  gray-beard  mirth  and  smiling  toil  retired, 

Where  village  statesmen  talked  with  looks  profound, 

And  news  much  older  than  their  ale  went  round. 

Imagination  fondly  stoops  to  trace 

The  parlor  splendors  of  that  festive  place: 

The  whitewashed  wall,  the  nicely  sanded  floor. 

The  varnished  clock  that  clicked  behind  the  door; 

The  chest  contrived  a  double  debt  to  pay, 

A  bed  by  night,  a  chest  of  drawers  by  day; 

The  pictures  placed  for  ornament  and  use. 

The  twelve  good  rules,  the  royal  game  of  goose; 

The  hearth,  except  when  winter  chilled  the  day. 

With  aspen  boughs  and  flowers  and  fennel  gay; 

While  broken  teacups,  wisely  kept  for  show. 

Ranged  o'er  the  chimney,  glistened  in  a  row.      .  'h  ^ 

Vain,  transitory  splendors !    could  not  all 
Reprieve  the  tottering  mansion  from  its  fall? 
Obscure  it  sinks,  nor  shall  it  more  impart 
An  hour's  importance  to  the  poor  man's  heart; 
Thither  no  more  the  peasant  shall  repair 
To  sweet  oblivion  of  his  daily  care : 


(1^-- 


The   Deserted  Village. 


31 


No  more  the  farmer's  news,  the  barber's  tale, 
No  more  the  woodman's  ballad  shall  prevail ; 
No  more  the  smith  his  dusky  brow  shall  clear, 
Relax  his  ponderous  strength,  and  lean  to  hear; 
The  host  himself  no  longer  shall  be  found 
Careful  to  see  the  mantling  bliss  go  round ; 


Nor  the  coy  maid,  half  willing  to  be  pressed, 
Shall  kiss  the  cup  to  pass  it  to  the  rest.        >  ^ 

Yes!   let  the  rich  deride,  the  proud  disdain, 
These  simple  blessings  of  the  lowly  train  : 
To  me  more  dear,  congenial  to  my  heart. 
One  native  charm,  than  all  the  gloss  of  art: 


-D 


32 


The  Deserted  Vielage. 


Spontaneous  joys,  where  nature  has  its  play, 
The  soul  adopts,  and  owns  their  first-born  sway; 
Lightly  they  frolic  o'er  the  vacant  mind, 
Unenvied,  unmolested,  unconfined : 


J3ut  the  long  pump,  the  midnight  masquerade, 
With  all  the  freaks  of  wanton  wealth  arrayed, — 


The  Deserted  Village.  33 

In  these,  ere  triflers  half  their  wish  obtain, 
The  toiling  pleasure  sickens  into  pain; 
And,  e'en  while  fashion's  brightest  arts  decoy,  , 
The  heart,  distrusting,  asks  if  this  be  joy.     2^  1 

Ye  friends  to  truth,  ye  statesmen,  who  survey 
The  rich  man's  joys  increase,  the  poor's  decay, 
^Tis  yours  to  judge,  how  wide  the  limits  stand 
Between  a  splendid  and  a  happy  land. 
Proud  swells  the  tide  with  loads  of  freighted  ore, 
And  shouting  Folly  hails  them  from  her  shore;      ~O0O 
Hoards  e'en  beyond  the  miser's  wish  abound, 
And  rich  men  flock  from  all  the  world  around. 
Yet  count  our  gains.     This  Avealth  is  but  a  name, 
That  leaves  our  useful  products  still  the  same. 
Xot  so  the  loss.     The  man  of  wealth  and  pride 
Takes  up  a  space  that  many  poor  supplied; 
Space  for  his  lake,  his  park's  extended  bounds. 
Space  for  his  horses,  equipage,  and  hounds: 
The  robe  that  wraps  his  limbs  in  silken  sloth 
Has  robbed  the  neighboring  fields  of  half  their  growth ; 
His  seat,  where  solitary  sports  are  seen, 
Indignant  spurns  \\\q  cottage  from  the  green; 
Around  the  world  each  needful  product  flies. 
For  all  the  luxuries  the  world  supplies; 


V^ 


34  The  Deserted  Village. 

While  thus  the  land,  adorned  for  pleasure  all, 
In  barren  splendor  feebly  waits  the  fall. 


A 


As  some  fair  female,  unadorned  and  plain, 
Secure  to  please  while  youth  confirms  her  reign, 


The  Deserted  Village. 


35 


Slights  every  borrowed  charm  that  dress  supplies, 

Kor  shares  with  art  the  triumph  of  her  eyes ;  '^  ^  O 

But  when  those  charms  are  past — for  charms  are  frail, — 

When  time  advances,  and  when  lovers  fail, 

She  then  shines  forth,  solicitous  to  bless, 

In  all  the  glaring  impotence  of  dress: 

Thus  fares  the  land,  by  luxury  betrayed; 

In  nature's  simplest  charms  at  first  arrayed; 

But  verging  to  decline,  its  splendors  rise. 

Its  vistas  strike,  its  palaces  surprise; 


While,  scourged  by  famine  from  the  smiling  land, 


36  The  Deserted  Village. 

The  mournful  peasant  leads  his  humble  band ; 
And  while  he  sinks,  without  one  arm  to  save, 
The  country  blooms — a  garden  and  a  grave.    ; 


y 


Where  then,  ah  where,  shall  poverty  reside, 
To  'scape  the  pressure  of  contiguous  pride? 
If  to  some  common's  fenceless  limits  strayed, 
He  drives  his  flock  to  pick  the  scanty  blade. 
Those  fenceless  fields  the  sons  of  wealth  divide, 
And  even  the  bare- worn  common  is  denied. 
If  to  the  city  sped,  what  waits  him  there?      iJ^^^    "  ^ 
To  see  profusion  that  he  must  not  share;  ^lO 

To  see  ten  thousand  baneful  arts  combined 
To  pamper  luxury,  and  thin  mankind; 
To  see  those  joys  the  sons  of  pleasure  know 
Extorted  from  his  fellow-creature's  woe. 
Here  while  the  courtier  glitters  in  brocade. 
There  the  pale  artist  plies  the  sickly  trade; 
Here  while  the  proud  their  long-drawn  pomps  display, 
There  the  black  gibbet  glooms  beside  the  way. 
The  dome  where  Pleasure  holds  her  midnight  reign, 
Here,  richly  decked,  admits  the  gorgeous  train; 
Tumultuous  grandeur  crowds  the  blazing  square, 
The  rattling  chariots  clash,  the  torches  glare. 


The   Deserted  Village. 


37 


Sure  scenes  like  these  no  troubles  e'er  annoy ! 
Sure  these  denote  one  universal  joy ! 


Are  these  thy  serious  thoughts  ?     Ah  !   turn  thine  eyes        .    *- 
AVhere  the  poor  houseless  shivering  female  lies.  ,         ^' 

She  once,  perhaps,  in  village  plenty  blest,  ,  (J  U  i)^ 


U 


38 


The  Deserted  Village. 


Has  wept  at  tales  of  innocence  distressed; 
Her  modest  looks  the  cottage  might  adorn, 
Sweet  as  the  primrose  peeps  beneath  the  thorn 


Now  lost  to  all,  her  friends,  her  virtue  fled, 

Near  her  betrayer's  door  she  lays  her  head, 

And,  pinched  with  cold  and  shrinking  from  the  shower, 

With  heavy  heart  deplores  that  luckless  hour 

When  idly  first,  ambitious  of  the  town. 

She  left  her  wheel,  and  robes  of  country  brown.  '^  : 


The   Deserted  Village. 


39 


Do  thine,  sweet  Auburn,  thine,  the  loveliest  train, 
Do  thy  fair  tribes  participate  her  pain? 
E'en  now,  perhaps,  by  cold  and  hunger  led. 
At  proud  men's  doors  they  ask  a  little  bread.   ^  "i  ^ 

Ah,  no.     To  distant  climes,  a  dreary  scene,       V 
AVhere  half  the  convex  world  intrudes  between. 
Through  torrid  tracts  with  fainting  steps  they  go, 
Where  wild  Altama  murmurs  to  their  woe. 


Far  different  there  from  all  that  charmed  before, 
The  various  terrors  of  that  horrid  shore: 
Those  blazing  suns  that  dart  a  downward  ray, 
And  fiercely  shed  intolerable  day; 


40  The   Deserted  Village. 

Those  matted  woods  where  birds  forg-et  to  sum. 
But  silent  bats  in  drowsy  clusters  cling; 
Those  pois'nous  fields  with  rank  luxuriance  crowned, 
AYhere  the  dark  scorpion  gathers  death  around ; 
Where  at  each  step  the  stranger  fears  to  wake 
The  rattling  terrors  of  the  vengeful  snake ; 
Where  crouching  tigers  Avait  their  hapless  prey, 
And  savage  men,  more  murderous  still  than  they; 
While  oft  in  Avhirls  the  mad  tornado  flies, 
Mingling  the  ravaged  landscape  Avith  the  skies. 
Far  diiferent  these  from  every  former  scene, 
The  cooling  brook,  the  grassy-A^ested  green. 
The  breezy  covert  of  the  Avarbling  groA^e, 
That  only  sheltered  thefts  of  harmless  love. 

Good  Heaven !   Avhat  sorroAvs  gloomed  that  parting 
day 
That  called  them  from  their  natiA^e  AA^alks  aAvay; 
When  the  poor  exiles,  every  pleasure  past, 
Hung  round  the  boAvers,  and  fondly  looked  their  last, 
And  took  a  long  farcAvell,  and  Avished  in  A^ain 
For  seats  like  these  beyond  the  Avestern  main ; 
And,  shuddering  still  to  face  the  distant  deep. 
Returned  and  Avept,  and  still  returned  to  Aveep ! 


The  Deserted  Village.  41 

The  good  old  sire  the  first  prepared  to  go 

To  new-found  worlds,  and  wept  for  others'  woe; 


But  for  himself,  in  conscious  virtue  brave, 
He  only  wished  for  worlds  beyond  the  grave. 


42 


The  Deserted  Village. 


His  lovely  daughter,  lovelier  in  her  tears, 
The  fond  companion  of  his  helpless  years, 
Silent  went  next,  neglectful  of  her  charms. 
And  left  a  lover's  for  a  father's  arms. 


With  louder  plaints  the  mother  spoke  her  woes, 


The   Deserted  Village.  43 

And  blessed  the  cot  where  every  pleasure  rose; 
And  kissed  her  thoughtless  babes  with  many  a  tear, 
And  clasped  them  close,  in  sorrow  doubly  dear; 
Whilst  her  fond  husband  strove  to  lend  relief 
In  all  the  silent  manliness  of  grief. 

^XJ-ziisuryJ— thou  cursed  by  Heaven's  decree, 
How  ill  exclianged  are  things  like  these  for  thee! 
How  do  thy  potions,  with  insidious  joy, 
Diffuse  their  pleasures  only  to  destroy ! 
Kingdoms  by  thee,  to  sickly  greatness  grown. 
Boast  of  a  florid  vigor  not  their  own. 
At  every  draught  more  large  and  large  they  grow, 
A  bloated  mass  of  rank  unwieldy  woe ; 
Till  sapped  their  strength,  and  every  part  unsound, 
Down,  down  they  sink,  and  spread  a  ruin  round. 

E'en  now  the  devastation  is  begun. 
And  half  the  business  of  destruction  done;        Q\y-^i 
E'en  now,  methinks,  as  pondering  here  I  stand,  t  ' ' 

I  see  the  rural  virtues  leave  the  land.  >  /i 

Down  where  yon  anchoring  vessel  spreads  the  sail       \  j J.  '- 
That  idly  waiting  flaps  with  every  gale,  '7/^ 

Downward  they  move,  a  melancholy  band,  ,-  f  ^  ^  -  ^'  "^/f 


,4^ 


44 


The   Deserted  Village. 


Pass  from  the  shore,  and  darken  all  the  strand. 
Contented  toil,  and  hospitable  care, 
And  kind  connubial  tenderness,  are  there; 
And  piety  with  wishes  placed  above. 
And  steady  loyalty,  and  faithful  love. 
And  thou,  sweet  Poetry,  thou  loveliest  maid. 
Still  first  to  fly  where  sensual  joys  invade; 
Unfit,  in  these  degenerate  times  of  shame, 
J^    Ajf^"^^     ^^  catch  the  heart,  or  strike  for  honest  fame; 
I  Dear  charming  nymph,  neglected  and  decried, 

My  shame  in  crowds,  my  solitary  pride; 
Thou  source  of  all  my  bliss  and  all  my  woe, 
That  found'st  me  poor  at  first,  and  keep'st  me  so; 
1       Thou  guide,  by  which  the  nobler  arts  excel, 


k 


w 


The  Deserted  Village. 


45 


Thou  nurse  of  every  virtue,  fare  thee  well ! 
Farewell ;  and  oh !  where'er  thy  voice  be  tried, 
On  Torno's  cliiFs,  or  Pambamarca's  side. 
Whether  Avhere  equinoctial  fervors  glow, 
Or  winter  wraps  the  polar  world  in  snow, 
Still  let  thy  voice,  prevailing  over  time,    ^ 
Redress  the  rigors  of  the  inclement  clime; 
Aid  slighted  truth  with  thy  persuasive  strain; 
Teach  erring  man  to  spurn  the  rage  of  gain; 
Teach  him,  that  states  of  native  strength  possessed. 
Though  very  poor,  may  still  be  very  blest; 
That  trade's  proud  empire  hastes  to  swift  decay, 
As  ocean  sweeps  the  labored  mole  away: 
While  self-dependent  power  can  time  defy, 
As  rocks  resist  the  billows  and  the  sky.     «y  ^^ 


U  o-tX^ 


"As  rocks  resist  the  billows  and  the  sky."— p.  45. 


14  DAY  USE 

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